


Smitten

by katherineerosee



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Awkward Boners, Choppy Writing, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4331796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherineerosee/pseuds/katherineerosee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zack felt as though he’d been sucker-punched in the ribs as he stared down into the endless sea of blue, and it was the best thing he’d felt in <i>so long.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Smitten

**Author's Note:**

> Alright guys, so I did a thing, sorry (not really). Anyway, just short little Zakkura (or clack, or whatever you wanna call it), one shot thingy that I had stuck in my head.
> 
> The writing style for this story is how I'd imagine Zack thinks - short, choppy sentences which turn in circles for a bit and swish and sway but eventually get to the point. Sorry if it's a bit confusing. 
> 
> I don't own FFVII, because if I did Zack would not have died and all the protagonists would probably be gay.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy I guess.

It started with the stares. Those moments when they’d pass each other in the hall; Zack, on his way to yet _another_ mission Angeal was sending him on, or training, or some useless errand that no one could be bothered to toss on the grunts so Zack was stuck lugging around a pile of paperwork higher than his head because Genesis didn’t want to get _up off his ass and_ – and Cloud, who would be wondering along, half dazed from an extra-long night shift – courtesy of his jackass of a CO and Cloud’s unfortunate luck with dropping his rifle – and half brain dead from functioning on two hours sleep over forty-eight – and their eyes would meet. The near ultra violet and mako blue would clash against sleepy, startled cerulean, and Cloud’s free hand would raise half-heartedly in a clumsy salute followed by a lethargic “sir!” – because they were still on duty, and he had to be _respectful_ not _friendly_ – it was then, that Zack’s right hand would tingle.

It was never an itch, never pins and needles – because he’d shook out his hand time and time again to try and rid the sensation like one would an asleep limb, all to no avail – and never a tickle. No, it was more of a yearning, as if his hand was a separate part of his body, a foreign component, a malfunctioning cog in the ever turning machine that was a SOLIDER’s body. His hand would yearn to reach out and gently brush that persistent tuft of soft yellow spikes that stuck up like literal spikes. It yearned to tenderly sweep that single strand of golden lock that hung in between cerulean eyes, and tuck it behind the young man’s ear. It yearned to touch.

It was a startling realisation, one that Zack tried to shake with every occurrence, but it seemed as time wore on, it became harder and harder. Before long he caught himself standing stock still in the middle of a hallway because as Cloud drifted past with a fellow infantryman on their way to yet another afternoon patrol, his halo of golden hair danced in the burning afternoon sun, and his eyes shone like blue fire and smothering hail, and his skin simply glowed and he looked like an _angel_ \- and Zack couldn’t tear his eyes from the glorious sight.

And his right hand tingled again.

It continued on for some time, until the enraptured stares turned to smouldering leers, and his hand didn’t _tingle_ it _twitched_ in anticipation, in _longing_. The dreams started not to long after that.

He’d arrived – bloody and muddy from, you guessed it, _another gaiadamn mission that was just_ – and he’d toed off his heavy combat boots before collapsing onto his unmade bed, barely registering his still dirtied uniform, and pushing aside the clutter of dirty magazines he had hoped would distract him from, well – and his eyes slammed shut.

He was walking down one of the endless hallways of the ShinRa building, suspiciously weaponless and alone, with a familiar, beyond irritating _tingle_ in his right hand. He drew himself close to the wall that faced the large tempered glass windows; hiding his long shadow in the darkened hall corner.

The soft impact of booted-foot against the plush dirty cream carpet that ShinRa used in abundance echoed loudly in the silent building. When the hell was the ShinRa building silent? There always seemed to be someone bustling through the halls; night-shift workers, with their fifth coffee in hand and a yawn dampened behind their hands, scientists and lab assistants that Zack _swore_ never slept, janitors pushing the brooms and mops up and down and up and down the hallways in an endless dance with mediocracy and poor life decisions, and the cadets returning from late night training – but none of that mattered when Cloud slipped around the corner at the end of the hallway, rifle still in hand and a yawn escaping his lips as he made his way to bed from another night-shift, and their eyes met.

It was the same as any other time, the blonde’s lips twitched up into a hesitant and almost insecure smile that held a twinge of contentment that had never been seen by anyone else – Zack was sure that _that_ smile was just for him, at least that’s what he told himself – and his ethereal, cerulean orbs shimmered in the faint moonlight from the large windows on the twenty-fourth floor.  But now, now there was something _more_. There was something _else_ there, and Zack was sure it wasn’t just his imagination.

He didn’t know what compelled him to move, what had forced his legs to crouch and spring – because he was sure he didn’t do it consciously – but in a second Zack was on him, and he had an armful of startled and simply _adorable_ blonde.

His gaze was wide-eyed, doe-like, almost, and illuminated in the moonlight he was utterly breathtaking – seriously though, Zack felt as though he’d been sucker-punched in the ribs as he stared down into the endless sea of blue, and it was the best thing he’d felt in _so long_ – and his pastel pink lips were parted ever so slightly in a gasp. It was so compelling, so _tempting_.

Despite the dry look of them, Cloud’s lips were soft, perhaps even dainty – though he would _actually_ get sucker-punched in the ribs if he said _that_ – and they felt like heaven. Like a fine mist of summer shower on the hottest and most humid day in Gongaga, like the refreshing cool sea breeze of Costa Del Sol, like the chilliest flakes of mock snow in Rocket Town, and they were all gently caressing his cheek and – wait, cheek? Wha –

His PHS was persistently ringing, vibrating constantly on the bedside table, creating a resonating buzz sound that echoed around the room. His 05:00 alarm had woken him out of perhaps the most innocent dream he’d had about another _interest_ in a long time – alongside the awkward angle he was slumped in; with his legs laying uselessly across the bed, and his torso splayed across his cold, hardwood floor, his cheek pressed heavily against the timber and his neck tilted painfully – and of course, the awkward boner.

How could he have even gotten a boner from something so – so, innocent? So _cute_? He supposed it was much like Cloud himself; an enigma.

As he slipped down from his bed, landing in a heavy lump on the unforgiving hardwood floor of his bedroom, he realised despite the innocence of the dream itself, images kept springing to the forefront of his mind. Flashes of sweet dry lips, and a creamy neck tilted at _just_ the right angle, and slim hips and a flat barely muscled stomach, and an arched spine, and hot puffs of air on his sweaty neck and drawn out moans and – wow, now he needed a cold shower, _really bad_.

It didn’t matter anymore though when he was walking back up to his apartment an hour later – still brooding over the dream and his _reaction_ – with a hot coffee in hand and he passed Cloud’s dorm. Eyes bright with Mako gleamed back at the plain white wooden door, and much like in his dream, he found himself suddenly moving without conscious thought. His fisted hand rapped lightly on the door – and seriously _what was that_? Should he see a doctor or something? Because his body just _wasn’t_ listening to him anymore – and the door swung in.

Again, sleepy, startled, cerulean blue gazed up at him, and somehow the blonde was even more tempting this morning than any other, which had seemed impossible before _this_.

He was dishevelled, simply put. His grey sweat pants had a small hole just above his right knee and were riding down low on his slim hips, and his long sleeved white t-shirt was a size or two to big, and thus was exposing the entirety of his steadily broadening left shoulder. His hair was ruffled and knotted, but Zack knew the strands would be silky smooth, should he touch them. The corners of his eyes were droopy and lethargic, alongside the soft pout of his slightly drool stained lips. He was _irresistible_.

“Zack?” His voice was raspy and low from sleep, and as the sound of his name died from his lips, Zack’s self-control died as well.

The plastic cup slipped from his hands, shattering at the seams as it smashed into the carpeted ground, the spilt liquid already beginning to further stain the creamy carpet, but neither cared. Zack’s lips were upon Cloud’s in an instant, gentle yet demanding, and though he never _technically_ asked for permission, judging by the dazed grin on the blonde’s face as he grabbed Zack’s wrist and all but ripped him inside his empty room, Zack knew it was okay.

 


End file.
